Take Your Time (Morrison x Ziegler)
by Xavirne
Summary: Heard this song, "Take Your Time" by Sam Hunt, on the radio as I drove to work today. Had to write a one-shot featuring my favorite pair, Jack Morrison (Soldier 76) and Angela Ziegler (Mercy). I know it's nothing special but I kinda like it. Hopefully you'll like it too. As always, thanks for reading!


_**Shoutout to Joel on AO3 for the translations. He's been a major help and I couldn't have written the German without him!**_

* * *

Gulping, he drew in a long, hard breath. It was now or never.

The air was alive with the scent of beer, hard liquor, sweat, and hay. Yes, hay. It paired nicely with the theme of the evening-western.

Country music played throughout the bar on this warm Friday evening. Some of it was drowned out by the mumbling and muttering of the daily patrons, ragging on how such a lame-ass theme could pull in this big of a crowd. But it did. The fact that dancing was made easy probably helped as who would hem and haw when someone was out of line, unlike the tango or foxtrot. Country was all about having a grand, good ol' time. No one gave a rat's ass if you couldn't dance.

Or so he hoped.

The bar's dim lighting helped hide the red that circulated his cheeks as he moved with fluid steps through the crowd. He, Jack Morrison, was on a mission. He was finally going to do it. Walk up to the lovely lady he'd been eyeing for what seemed like ages.

Sit down across from her. Strike up a conversation. See if they had some common ground. That was the plan.

Colors swirled around him. Dancing, spinning women flung themselves on their partners. Beer sloshed around, making the floor sticky and frothy. The sneeze-inducing scent of hay caused his nose to tickle.

Jack held his breath and kept walking. He knew that, if he stopped, he would get swept up and away. Pulled into a dance or conversation as he was, without a doubt, one of the better looking men in the bar (he wasn't trying to be cocky either!). With his golden hair and pretty blue eyes, he could lure anyone-man or woman-into his lap. He had an aura of command about him, something that naturally pulled people to him. He was also charming as hell, another thing that would attract unwarranted attention.

But he couldn't let that come between him and the objective, the mission.

As he pushed through, his eyes fell on her.

She sat alone, jaw lax as her eyes scanned over each and every body. Nearly half the men at this bar were Overwatch soldiers or scientists. Some of them were easier on the eyes but that didn't mean anything. The way she combed over every inch of the body meant she was looking for something more. She studied their eyes and tracked their movements. She claimed she wasn't looking right now. But with how she analyzed every face, well, that made it hard to believe.

Frankly, it's what she'd been doing for the past few months. Sitting there, alone at her own little table, looking out at the sea of faces. Man nor woman could pull her into a conversation that lasted more than five minutes for she was quick to turn people down. She knew exactly what she wanted, that much was evident.

His eyes panned over to a table about two behind hers. There were a pair of men sitting, waiting. They were her guards. There were also two women, likely her friends, who would step in and rescue her if they didn't like the company she kept.

He swallowed again. Beads of sweat started to clutch his hairline.

 _You can do this, Jack. She's just a woman. She's patched you up before. You can do this._

That's when his heart stopped.

Her eyes, they were on him.

Her lips, they pulled to the side. She wore a smile. A sexy, seductive smile. Sweet and angelic but also devilish as hell. _But she probably always smiles like that._

Exhaling calmly, Jack stepped forward. He couldn't just walk by and not say hi, not after getting a flash of her pearly whites.

"Hey," he slid onto the wood bench seat opposite her, "Miss Ziegler." He watched as the set of four eyes behind her landed on him. One wrong move, and she'd call them over and his ass would be out on the streets.

"Please," her smile softened, a look of delight coming into play within her sapphire orbs, "it's Angela."

Everyone knew her name. She was the shining star of Overwatch. The guardian angel. The medic who gave birth to the word miracle worker.

Not wanting to come on too strong, Jack flagged down a bar staff. "Want anything?" He hoped offering her a drink might ease the tone.

When her eyes moved back to his, Jack felt his skin crawl. Her eyes, they were so intimidating. They were unlike anything he'd ever seen before.

Heart thundering within his chest, he quickly added, "Promise I won't judge if you don't. Just noticed your glass was empty."

She laughed, leaning into the table just a bit more. Head turning toward the waiter, she smirked. "Something sweet," she winked over at Jack, "Velen dank, sußer (Thank you very much, honey)."

Not knowing any German, Jack gave her a shy smile. He was fearful that was the cue for the thugs behind her to remove him. But, when they didn't pull from from their table, he wondered if maybe he read her comment wrong. _Velen dank? Very drunk? Süßer? Sober? That makes no sense. I have no idea what she's saying..._

When he realized they were sitting in awkward silence, he ducked his head to the side. _Don't steal her time. Just talk to her Jack. Just pretend you've known her your who-_

"Thank you," her head tilted to the side as she stroked the empty glass before her.

Brow arching, he questioned her. "For...?"

"What you do."

He blinked.

"With Overwatch." She laughed, loving how oblivious he was.

"Oh," Jack's hand ran up to rub the back of his neck. "Don't thank me. Not yet. The works not done. If anything," his eyes moved to catch hers, "I should be thanking you."

"For...?" She copied him. Quizzical look plain as day in those shimmering, shining baby blues.

Shoulders relaxing, Jack smirked. She was beautiful. Absolutely breathtaking. If he were any other man, he'd be laying down the flirt. But he knew better. Knew that stealing her heart right from the get-go was a big hell no. These kind of things required time. Dedication. Small talk.

"Patching me up," Jack's smile grew as he lifted up his leg. Sure enough, wrapped around his thigh was the white medical wrapping. There were some bloody edges, due to a battle wound he took earlier that morning. It was nothing big but, well, Jack had to go get it patched up. He wouldn't miss a chance to see Angela.

At that point, their drinks arrived. He had a seasonal beer, she with her sweet...it looked like a margarita.

"Well I can't let someone of your stature just die," she pulled the glass closer to her lips. "Besides," her eyes sparkled, much like the crystal glass she drank from, "you're one of the better ones."

"Better ones?" Jack's brow quirked. "At shooting?"

A laugh flew from her mouth. It caught him by surprise, which caused him to laugh right back.

"No," she covered her lips, "I mean one of the better," her lips fell together as a wrinkle formed between her brows. "Oh how do you say it," her face grimaced. She was struggling with her English, which, up until now, Jack hadn't realized it was actually her second language. "Gutaussehend (good looking/handsome)."

"Gutsenhend?" His brows furrowed. What the fuck was that supposed to mean. Gutsahend. Guts in hand? Oh jeez, was she mocking him for getting shot. _Wow, glad I've been qualified as one of the 'better' wounded soldiers._ Up until now, he thought the conversation was going well. Perhaps it wasn't...

Her head was shaking. "Sorry," she kept shaking her head. "I'm still trying to learn some of those _adjektives_."

"Ah," the concern on his face fell away, slightly. Maybe she didn't know how to translate her German to English. Maybe he was just making a big fuss out of nothing. She was laughing after all! "What's the word you're looking for, _Guts-en-hand_ , mean?"

Tears came to the corner of her eyes as she burst into a cheery chuckle. " _Guts-en-hand_ ," she giggled. It was so cute how he tried to speak her language! But she could also see his concern, or at least understand the look in his eyes. Anything that sounded like guts-in-hand had to have a negative connotation, right?

She hummed her lips together. "Oh, you know," she waved a hand toward him, "you."

"Me?"

"Yes, you. Your type."

"My type?" Again, his brows furrowed. She really was mocking him for bleeding, wasn't she!?

She shook her head. "Absome?" Her eager gaze fixed on him. "Iz that ze word?" Her German was starting to sink into her words.

"Absome?" Jack mulled over the word. Was she talking about his abs? Could she even see them in this lighting?

 _"_ Uh," she tried to come up with another translation. " _Gud looking?_ But not that word." The scowl on her face marred her features, but it showed that she was really working over this word. She was persistent, he'd give her that!

 _Good looking but not that word._ Jack frowned before a smile started to appear. _Wait, she wasn't... oh jeez!_ Just thinking that she was mocking him made him flush bright red. She wasn't being mean. She was _hitting_ on him.

" _Handsome_?"

"Yes!" She practically jumped over the table, or so it felt. Happily, she clapped her hands. "Handsome, that's the word!"

She could have rolled her eyes. Told Jack to go to hell. At any point, she could have walked away. But, instead, she stayed put. Right there, engaging him. Falling into conversation. Hell, even calling him handsome.

Angela picked up her glass. "Cheerz?" She batted her lashes his way.

"To Overwatch?"

"To Overwatch," she smiled right back.

Their glasses clinked before they both took a few good sips.

Pulling that wide rim away from her lips, she continued to watch him. Take him in. _Drink_ him in.

"Wanna get outta here?"

The question (and lack of formality) came from nowhere. Was she really...?

"How about a dance instead?" Jack gestured toward the dying crowd.

Just how long had they been staring at each other? It couldn't have been more than 5-minutes.

As his eyes fell on that clock on the large, wooden back wall, he realized his mistake. Had they gotten caught up in conversation? Had they talked without him registering it? Was he really staring that much?

2 whole hours later. _Time flies when you're not trying to flirt with the pretty woman in front of you?_

"A dance," her finger dipped into the strawberry colored liquid in her glass, "would be nice." Drawing it out, she put it in her mouth to suck off the sweet flavor. A popping nose followed as the finger escaped. She was definitely feeling buzzed. How many drinks did they share? He'd lost count.

Pushing from the table, Jack gingerly scooted around to her side. Hand extended and body bowed, he invited her to dance. "May I have this honor, Miss Ziegler."

"It's Angela, _Mr Morrison._ "

So she did know his name. Though Jack wasn't a fan of that title.

Jack cocked back, eyes set deadpan on her face. "That's my father's name."

Angela cracked a smile. She was teasing him, just like he teased her.

Her hand slipped into his. Her touch, cool yet soft, as opposed to his, warm and rough. Smiles on their faces, he pulled her close. She didn't seem to mind, as she fell right into him. If those judging eyes didn't know any better, they'd have assumed they'd been married for years.

Every motion was dynamic, perfect. It looked like it was rehearsed, but it was their first dance together. Their first time alone.

Her head rested lightly against his, completely ignoring the fact that this was supposed to be a country-style dance. Thankfully, the good DJ was nice enough to toss on a slow song, allowing the last couple on the dance floor to have that final dance. Their feet stepped flawlessly around each other. Each twist, tumble, twirl, all of it came with excellent timing. The soft yet passionate stare in their eyes further adding to the moment.

 _"Jack,"_ she whispered as the song came to its end.

"Yes, Mis- _Angel_?"

Her body twitched. Lips caught agape, she stared up at him with those curious, beautiful blue eyes. She always hated that name and yet, when he said it, she didn't mind it. In fact, she wanted him to say it again.

He caught her stare, which caused his blush. "Sorry, _Angela_." He corrected, fearful that he was pushing his luck.

"No," her hand fell flat against his chest. The taut material giving away all his muscles and rhythmic breathing. "I like that," her rolled her head up to meet his. _"Angel."_

Endearingly, his hand crawled up from her hips. Finding its home in her blonde hair, a sincere smile came into play on his face. "Shall I walk you home?"

Her hand reached up to cup around his. "I," she chewed her lip, while trying to remain cool, calm. "I'd like that."

With tender stepping, he walked around her. Arm up and elbow out, he encouraged her to take hold. And take hold she did.

Sleepy, semi-tipsy smiles plastered on their glowing red faces, they left that bar both humming the slow tune to their first-but the bar's last-song. She liked to lean on him, bashfully yet fervidly. Euphoria still evident in all they did.

He didn't mean to take her time. But take her time, he did.


End file.
